Dean's Costume
by RiverSongTam
Summary: At first, Dad wasn't going to let Sammy go trick-or-treating. John finally relents, though-as long as Dean go along to look after his little brother. Pre-slash. Weechesters.


October 31, 1988

Dad hadn't wanted them to go, at first.

Really, it was all _stupid_ school's fault. If the kids in Sammy's kindergarten class hadn't told him about trick-or-treating, he wouldn't have known any better. Dad always kept them inside on Halloween. It was a dangerous night, Dean knew that. And so far he and Dad had done a good job hiding Sammy from monsters. So the idea of letting him go _outside_ at _night_ when every kid in town was dressed up as ghosts and vampires all while the real things that wanted to eat them were prowling in the dark was just crazy.

But then Sam got it into his head that he _had_ to go trick-or-treating. And Dad had said no at first, but sometimes Sam just couldn't hear it when Dad said no. So when Dad found a job three hours outside Blue Earth (a bunch of ghouls who thought Halloween was the perfect time to party in the local cemetery), he dropped Sam and Dean off with Pastor Jim for the weekend, telling Sammy he could _only_ go trick-or-treating if Dean would go with him, if they both went with the group of kids from Pastor Jim's Sunday school, and if they promised to stay where they could see Pastor Jim and he could see them the whole time.

Which is how Dean ended up holding onto Sammy's hand, trailing behind the twenty or so kids who trailed behind Pastor Jim dressed as Van Helsing (which was okay, _maybe_ a cool costume).

All decked out in his costume, Sammy looked—not cute. Dean was nine years old and much too old to coo over something being _cute_ like some kind of baby. Naw, Sammy looked bad _ass_! He was dressed as Sir Galahad. He'd latched onto the knight from the stories Dean had been reading out loud to him lately.

Sam was a real nerd about things like that.

He was wearing a hauberk and some actual metal chainmail that Dean had helped Uncle Bobby rig up when Dad had finally caved about Halloween. In a sheath at Sam's side, he wore one of John's long, thin knives as a sword. Maybe he wouldn't actually know how to use it if anything came after them (which should be okay, because Dean knew how to use the knife he had tucked under his jacket), but Dean felt better knowing Sammy had it on him. You know, just in case.

Dean slowed to a stop when the kids from the Sunday school group swarmed the first house on the block. Sam stuck beside him without offering any resistance. He bounced a little in place, beaming up at Dean with apple-red cheeks in the cold.

"Do you know why it's called 'trick-or-treat,' Dean?" Sam asked, his words all coming out in a rush.

"No, why?" Dean asked, hand on the hilt of his knife as he scanned the street before meeting Pastor Jim's eye and nodding.

Dean always liked Pastor Jim. He'd never been bothered by the fact that Sammy was _Dean's_ to take care of.

"Because," Sam said, swinging Dean's hand a little. "Back in the old days, if grown-ups didn't give kids the candy they asked for, they'd play a trick on them. Do you think anybody still plays tricks on people who don't pass out candy, Dean?"

"I dunno, Sammy," Dean said, stepping forward again now that the other kids had moved onto the next house. "I don't think so."

"Good," Sam said, lifting his chin a little. "I don't think Dad will be giving kids candy."

Dean bit his lip before ruffling Sam's hair and grinning down at him.

"Go get your candy, kiddo," he said, pausing where the sidewalk made a T, the tail leading up to the first brightly-lit house.

Sam froze.

"Aren't—aren't you coming?" he asked.

"Nah. I don't wanna take the candy away from the kids. 'Sides, I'm not even wearing a costume."

Sam's little pink tongue darted out to wet his lips as he studied Dean. A moment later, he nodded and turned towards the house.

Dean listened as he knocked on the door and said "trick-or-treat," enunciating each sound like the genius kid he was. He kept his eyes on the woman who answered the door, making sure she didn't try to bring Sam inside or change into some sort of monster. He let out a breath when Sam turned away and the door closed again.

Sam came back with a decent-sized handful of candy in his plastic pumpkin, and Dean smiled at him again. Of course no grown-up could resist Sammy. They'd _have_ to give the scrawny kid some extra candy.

At the next house, the lady (dressed as a cat) who opened the door looked over Sam's shoulder at Dean and said something Dean couldn't quite catch. Whatever it was, Sam sure perked up at it. When he raced back to Dean this time, he was waving a snickers bar in one hand.

"Dean, Dean," Sam said, holding out the candy bar. "This is for you! The cat-woman said I could take one for you too. And look—snickers! Your favorite."

"That's okay, Sam. You keep it," Dean said, dropping a hand on Sam's shoulder and steering him towards the next house. The Sunday school kids were starting to get a little too far ahead of them.

When Dean looked away from the group (Pastor Jim bringing up the rear now), and back at Sam, the kid had his head down and was staring at his thrift-store Nike sneakers.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said, his voice soft.

Sam didn't cry anymore. Hadn't for almost two years. But that was the voice he used that made Dean wish he still did. That was the voice that made Dean feel achy and tight in his chest—and maybe a little sick to his stomach. That was the voice that made Dean want to take on the world in a fight if it would just get Sammy to smile again.

"Why?" Dean asked, his grip on Sam's shoulder tightening.

When Sam looked up at him, his eyes were huge and sad.

Crap. The voice _and_ the eyes. Some jerk needed to be punched out _now_!

"Because I made you come trick-or-treating with me, and—and," Sam tore his eyes away from Dean's face and trained them on his feet again. "It's for babies."

It looked like _Dean_ was the jerk who needed to be punched.

"Aww, Sammy, that's not true," Dean said, licking his own lips now. "I mean, even Pastor Jim's here, right?"

Sam nodded.

"And he's not a baby," Dean said.

"I guess," Sam said, but he didn't sound very convinced.

"Look," Dean said, ushering Sam through the little picket gate at the edge of the next house's yard. "I'll come with you, Sam."

Sam looked up at Dean out of the corner of his eye, like he knew what Dean was doing and didn't trust him. Dean just rolled his eyes and banged on the front door with his fist.

This time a woman and a man answered, the woman dressed as a witch, the man Frankenstein's monster.

"Uh, trick-er-treat," Dean mumbled.

The Frankenstein-monster grabbed a huge bowl of candy from a table inside the house and handed it to the witch. She held it out to the boys.

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest knight," she crooned at Sam.

Dean felt something white hot flare up in his chest, but for Sammy's sake, he forced himself to shut up and just glare at the couple.

"And what are you supposed to be?" the woman asked, turning her head towards Dean.

"U-um," Dean stuttered.

"He's my brother," Sam said, sounding so heated Dean felt his glare melt away. Who cared what these people said, anyway?

"Oh," the woman said. "Does Sir Lancelot have a brother?"

"I'm Sir Galahad. And he doesn't have any brothers. But Dean's—" Sam paused, craning his neck to see up into his brother's face. "Dean's a hero."

Dean's cheeks felt hot all of a sudden. Leave it to Sammy to say something weird and girly like that. And he didn't even _know_ about hunting. Dean coughed and looked down the street after Pastor Jim and his group.

The couple at the door chuckled, and Dean turned back to see them dump a small river of candy into Sam's pumpkin.

"Happy Halloween, you two," the woman said as she turned back inside, the man winking as he closed the door.

Dean ruffled Sam's hair again before he tore into the snickers bar in his hands. He took a huge bite and made as loud of an "Mmm" sound as he could, drawing a bird-like laugh out of Sammy. Dean chewed and swallowed the bite before the got to the next house.

"You're right, Sam," Dean said. "Snickers are my favorite. Maybe you're onto something with this whole trick-or-treating thing."

Sam smirked at Dean before bounding up the steps onto the porch of the next place and ringing the doorbell.

Yeah, Dean thought as he stood beside Sam while he held out his pumpkin and called out "trick-or-treat," this whole Halloween thing wasn't so bad. And hey, if he "forgot" to eat any of his share of the candy out of Sammy's pumpkin, that wouldn't be so bad either.


End file.
